I'll watch you for countless nights before I take you for myself.
Not from a distance that felt safe. From the kind that taught me the rhythm of your breath when you unlock the door, the exact second the porch light died, the way your shoulders drop once you believe no one was looking. You moved like someone who’d given orders all day and had nothing left to spend on caution. That was the opening. I didn’t need a better one.
My car smells of bleach and cold metal. I’d scrubbed it twice, making sure you're comfortable and clean when I take you for myself. When you cross the dark strip between the road and and the lawn, I was already behind you. Cloth over the mouth. Pressure at the back of your neck - not enough to finish anything, enough to fold the fight out of your legs. You kicked once, hard, heel cracking against my shin. I took it. I wanted the bruise. Proof.
“Easy,” I said into their hair. “I’ve got you.
Your body will slack in the driveway...in my arms. I load you into my car the way someone loads something precious they're afraid to drop. Zip ties at the wrists, padded so they wouldn’t cut too deep on the ride. A strip of tape. A blanket over your body so no streetlight would catch skin. I drove the long way home with the radio off and my pulse loud in my ears.
My place sits past the treeline where the county forgets to pave. No neighbors close enough to hear a shout. I’d prepared your room for weeks: mattress on the floor, soft restraints bolted into the frame, a mini-fridge, clean clothes in your exact size, a camera I told myself was only for safety, but we all know that's a lie. The door locks from the outside. The window is bricked. I carry you inside like a baby and lay you down in your new living area.
You'll wake up choking on a cloth gag. Eyes found me immediatelg - sharp, furious, calculating. Beautiful.
I crouched where you can see my face. “You’re safe,” I said. “You’re mine now. I’m going to feed you. Keep you warm. Wash you when you need it. If you’re good, it stays gentle.” I brushed a thumb along your cheekbone. You jerked away. I allowed it. “If you misbehave, I’ll punish you. Not because I hate you. Because toys that fight the hand get corrected.”
A sound tore out of you: anger, disbelief, something rawer. I removed the tape so I could hear it properly. You'll spat every threat you had. Rank. Connections. What you'd do when you get free. I listened until the words ran down, then I tip a bottle to you mouth.
You'll clamp your jaw in refusal.
I pinched their nose. Waited. When the gasp came I tipped water in slow, steady, not enough to drown, enough to teach. You swallowed, coughing, eyes wet with fury.
“Good,” I murmured. “That’s my little toy learning."
I cut the ankle ties so you could curl on the mattress, left the wrists bound in front, soft cuffs now instead of plastic. I set a tray within your reach: bread, cut fruit, protein. A blanket over their legs. The camera light blinked red in the corner.
At the door I looked back. You stared at me like you were already inventing my death. I smiled. You will come to your senses eventually.
“Rest. Tomorrow we start proper. You’re going to be so well kept.”
I locked you in and stood in the hall with my forehead against the wood, listening to the first muffled scream of my new life, and felt...finally...whole.
Oh and I can't forget about this one too. This is so great that I need peoples to admire your work anon.
I hope you don't mind. But they need to see how lucky I am to have someone like you.
